


musty for-sale signs

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Smoking, be careful with yourself, read warnings in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Some days are rainy and gray and worse than others. Louis copes.





	musty for-sale signs

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this is fake and fictional and not at all real about either of the people depicted herein. nothing in common with these two except the names. 
> 
> **contains suicidal thoughts and some references to ideation, and a lot of feelings about depression.** i had a rough morning and some rough thoughts and thought about some bad habits of mine. i dunno. this isn't really even that sad, just that classic numbness of depression and the vague restlessness of wanting to be happy again.

It’s about a fucking table, of all things. 

It’s a table, and a new flat that feels achingly small, and being worried that it’s just past too late and that he’s fucking everything up, but it’s mostly a table. 

The thing is, he and Nick aren’t perfect, but he likes to think they’re above dumb shit like Ikea furniture arguments, but apparently Louis is 26 going on 17, so he steps loudly on a pile of styrofoam and bubble wrap and pretends he slips, and a part of him hopes Nick takes it as an excuse to keep yelling at him, but instead, Nick asks if he’s okay, and Louis nods jerkily before lying down silently for a second, not sure when this turned into one of those moments where he has to tell himself he doesn’t want to die. 

It doesn’t quite work. 

Louis’ had a shit brain for long enough that he’s mostly just exhausted, worn down by how much he doesn’t want to be alive, even if he’s mostly got it under control now, only lets it out in short bursts. He’s pretty sure he’s a generally happy person, when his brain isn’t getting in the way and making him question whether he’s ever loved or cared about anyone or anything. 

He just doesn’t feel like himself when shit like this happens. 

He doesn’t feel like much of anything, really, except for maybe tired. 

“I’m gonna head out,” he says, knowing Nick hears,  _ I need to let off some steam.  _ They’re not quite fighting anymore, but they haven’t exactly forgiven each other, either; Louis doesn’t know how to be around Nick when he’s feeling this way and the two of them are acting this way. 

Maybe he should figure that out. They’ve been together for ages, and they’re living in a fucking one bedroom flat. Not like not sharing a bed had been an option when they’d been keeping up the ruse of independent living space, but still— it feels different, because the outside world rears its ugly head in strange ways when two people merge their private lives. 

Louis hadn’t expected that part of it. 

 

He’s been trying to quit smoking for a bit, now. 

It isn’t something he and Nick really talk about, except for how their new lease says the building is smoke free, and Louis had smiled and nodded and said that wouldn’t be a problem when they'd told him as much. 

And it isn’t a problem, honest. Louis doesn’t smoke regularly, and can go weeks without a cigarette for the first time in years. His lungs feel clearer and his eyes feel more open and it’s good, along with a lot of the other good shit Nick brings into his life. 

Nick is a social smoker, but he’s also a social person, which means he's smoked plenty, maybe even more than Louis in the last few months.

But Louis has memories of late nights and shaky hands desperately guarding against the wind, of being out on a balcony and not wanting to want to jump anymore, of letting the ash fall on his frozen toes in the biting winter cold. He’s set off smoke alarms and felt like a brat, then acted like a brat in response, but the thing is, the only moments he’d had to himself were the moments he spent with a cigarette in his hand, some anomaly acting like everything he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Louis isn’t an unhealthy guy. He doesn’t drink that much anymore, doesn’t stay out late, tries to get to the gym and eat regular meals and drink water. But there’s the occasional stretch of weeks where he won’t shower for a while, will let bags grow under his eyes, won’t get out of bed unless he’s dragged forcibly, and Nick’s made those stretches a little easier. 

That part really used to scare Louis, actually, but he thinks it’s just the fact of having someone to get out of bed for. A pet would probably do the same thing. 

The problem is that Louis is shit at being taken care of, and also, he can’t quite shake wanting to die, and he doesn’t want to be like this. 

So, he smokes. 

 

Nick doesn’t know enough about the smoking thing to know that Louis buying a pack is like giving up, but Louis doesn’t want to tell him anyway. 

It’s not like giving up smoking had been a joint decision. Louis’ body is his life, and what he wants to put in it is no one else’s business, the same way Nick’s awful sleep habits aren’t something Louis gets to criticize until they start to affect him. Maybe in a world where they were married, or had kids, or were trusted with each other’s medical history— 

Maybe then it would be a two person decision, but this has always been Louis’ thing that no one else gets a say in, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. 

Really, what it comes down to is this: 

Louis wants to die, so he steps into a convenience store, hood-up, and asks for a lighter and a pack of Marlboro reds. 

He plants his back on the wall around the corner, standing under the awning of the store to avoid the rain, and lights it easily, and no one sees as he holds it between his fingers and takes drag after drag, nearly burning the sleeves of his too-big hoodie. 

He drops it to the ground when it’s mostly done, then takes the long way home, wondering if getting perfume samples from the drugstore would be too obvious or trashy. 

The rain helps; smoke smells strong, but rain’s scent lingers everywhere, mixing with the dirt and grass poking up from the sidewalk, so by the time Louis’ back at his place, all he has to hide is the waxy film that he can still taste. 

“I bought some cleaner spray,” Louis announces as he walks into the flat, making a beeline for the kitchen. 

“Ah,” Nick says, walking over to stand behind him, but Louis’ already got some crisps in his mouth so that Nick can’t kiss him. 

His lips feel kind of burnt. 

“Figured it’d be a good thing to have around,” Louis says, not turning around. He thinks that if he keeps eating and keeps talking, Nick will see that Louis needs a little more space for right now.

As if on cue, Nick takes a small step back, and Louis turns around to give him a small half-grin, isn’t quite surprised to find it’s genuine. 

“I wiped down the table,” Nick says. “In case you wanted to sit at it.” 

“I did, yeah,” Louis says, and he would’ve been mad if Nick hadn’t done it, considering he’d barked it out as he slammed their front door, but it doesn’t make him feel any less warm inside that Nick had. It’s a peace offering, Louis reasons. It’s supposed to feel nice. 

Really, it’s not about the table at all. 

“Thanks for the cleaning spray,” Nick says genuinely, and Louis reaches out and squeezes his hand, not sure if it’s the cigarette or something else that’s got his skin feeling dry and tight. 

The exhaustion in his bones feels less resigned, though, and that’s something. 

He wonders if he actually had any reason for the smoke, or if he’d gone and come back to this, he would have felt as good. A part of it is the nicotine, but a part of it was the destruction, and it’s unfortunate that he can never tell which he’s craving. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out; think about the empty storefront with a pile of rubble sitting in it and the smell of desperation tangled up in tobacco; watch the rain fall heavy outside, now that he’s safe in his flat with a man he really does love an awful lot. 

There’s a sad sense of victory in the comfort of the moment, but he’ll take it. 


End file.
